The Ender Kingdom
by Mike H
Summary: The time of the Game Patches is new, and a new King has taken the crown from his father and must learn the ways of the Dominion through hatred, love, and betrayal. Inspired by an upcoming mod: "The Ender Virus" by EnderSlayer13. Based on "Fallen Kingdom."
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

The day was cold, and the rain offering none other than more of such sensation. It came down in torrential downpours every waking second in the spring. It pelted his face and shoulders with everything it could at a constant rate. His velvet robes would have to be hand-dried again, but he cared not. He merely cared of the small people walking through the weather, colder and wetter than he was, surely. From the top of the Tower of Kings, he gazed into the endless skyline that would soon return to its full potential, come summer. Taking note of every person that darted through the rain from structure to structure, holding up their arms and Bibles to protect themselves from the cold sting.

His eyes were narrowed, trying to focus his vision through the cast of weather, and he grasped the bust of the fence with his hand to keep from falling as he leaned in to see each new event. But, there was a group of happenings that drew his gaze every time. His senses were awakened each time by the sharp crash of a door being shut. He would search for the new source of the disruption, and find, each occasion, a young woman standing in front of the door, looking to be a dejected soul, almost ready to leave its shell of a body.

She was a short woman with red hair worn in a bun, and she was dressed in a lackluster outfitting that may have once been appealing, but such a commodity could never survive the rainy season. It was a brownish-black shade with a few green hues in some small areas. It was slightly torn at the knees and elbows, and along the stomach area. It looked as though she had just returned from an illegal dueling match. Her expression matched her clothes: sad, disgraced, dejected. He hated seeing others suffer, especially those of his realm.

Rather than move to the next house, she simply wandered toward the town square. Her head hung so low it was a mystery to him how she knew where she was going. The rain now began to fall in massive swells in addition to the already torrential gale. There always seemed to be a swell following her as she walked, and he could almost hear the cadence of rainfall on the cobblestone streets below him. She seemed to shift direction and head for the puppet stand, a place where children would come on a daily basis to watch the frail, wooden figures dance around the small stage. The children would snicker and laugh as the small man swung his sword at the creeper puppet, causing it to run away in fear.

She sat on the small set of bleachers in front of the stand, and started to weep. It was a full, slow sobbing with pauses every few moments to take in more air. It peaked his curiosity as to what was abusing this woman's grief. He aimed to find out as he removed his hand from the balcony fence. It was now cold and clammy from the constant contact with said cold, wet surface. He continued to watch her cries of sorrow for another moment before turning back into his chamber.

It was a room truly fit for a king. On the walls near the ceiling, the seal of Minecraftia woven upon a dark red flag waved in silence. On the floor, there were rows upon rows of chests and shelves containing his sets of armor, weapons, tools, and precious minerals lining the walls. There was even a box in the corner, containing the mossy remnants of the materials used to construct the great kingdom he stood over every day from the Tower of Kings. He kept that one locked up, sometimes donating a few blocks of its contents to the construction of new buildings. In this box, he also kept his acme of all his helms in this box, his crown, a symbol of peace an dominion in Minecraftia. He placed it upon his head, feeling the power of rule run through him, a feeling he had always longed for when he was a young boy.

He also drew from this box his favorite sword, made of diamonds from the deepest mines, and enchanted to never break. It had violently met the skin and bones of every monster, and protected him and his fathers for generations. It was a symbol of pride and bravery in the city, and throughout the lands. He held it straight in his hands for what felt like minutes before he finally swung it in a full circular motion, cutting the air and emitting a _whoosh _sound that filled the room. He then closed his eyes, held the sword straight once again, and placed his hand upon the blunt of its blade. He drew several breaths in concentration, and began to sense the cold diamond on his skin even more, before finally inhaling one last, massive breath before opening his eyes, turning around quickly, and violently hurling the sword in his new direction. As it cut the air, it made similar _whoosh_ sounds as it had seconds ago, and it flew across the massive chamber, before it met its mark: a target made from a log of jungle wood, conveying a painting of a creeper in the centre. It met its mark, as it always had.

The man walked to the log, being on the other side of the room, and yanked the blade from the wood as if it were butter. He could hear the scratching noise it made as it exited the new indentation in the lumber, but he knew that it meant nothing. Again, he swung the sword in a near full circle motion, but stopped short when the blade met his eye level. He observed the sword painstakingly, finding not a splinter nor a scratch. He never did. There never was.

He slid the sword into the sheath he kept on his back at all times. The sword never quite fit the sheath, but it was crafted from the leather hide of the first cow he had slain. Everything in the town was related to him in a way, but them again, it ought to have. He began to walk toward the door, but it opened in front of him before he could reach it. A young man dressed in a slightly worn servant's suit emerged from the doorway, bowing his head at the first sight of the man before him.

"Your Majesty," the butler said. "We have scheduled your dinner tonight in full. The cook will be serving cooked chicken laced with golden apples, with mushroom soup as the side dish. The total attendance will be nine, sire, including yourself."

The man hardly did make eye contact as he spoke, but the King cared not.

"Excellent, Squire," the King said, in a deep, commanding voice. "You have followed my demands to the letter, but I sense an error. Something rather grave, indeed."

His squire was taken aback by this, and he was equally frightened of being punished. Still not making eye contact with his master, he said, "And what would that be, sire?" He then laughed in a nervous fear that he had disrespected the King. There was a long pause, consisting merely of the King staring intently out of his large window, still being pelted with rain.

"Nine," the man finally uttered, catching the servant off of his guard. "Nine people, you say? Such an odd number; such an uneven number! I would not be found dead being an acquaintance of nine men! No woman goes to the market to specifically buy _nine _apples. No, no, indeed not...

"But ten! Ten is a proper number, representing a milestone, if you will. For any man with a sword would fight alongside ten knights, and any woman would truly travel to market to specifically buy ten apples."

The servant was unsure of how to see this reasoning put forward by his King. What had it meant, and why did it matter, the number of those attending this banquet. It was held every Notchday at the same time and the same place. "Forgive me, sire. I do not understand..."

The King walked toward the door, not making eye contact with his squire, and held up his pointer finger upon exit.

"Go now," he said, as he opened the large door. "and inform the cook and the guards that tonight's attendance will be ten."

The day only seemed to be getting worse. The rain continued to fall as if it were a flaming dragon of beyond, and it was starting to cause the horses some pain through the sharp, keen sting of the freezing water. But they had not the right to complain, as they were privileged to pull the King's carriage, although his Highness could have picked a better day for a ride. Inside the cab, the King heard nothing but the squeaking of the wooden wheels and the hooves of the horses on the cobblestone road. He looked out into the world through the small pane of glass called a window, and he observed the many women and children in the windows who had come to their own windows to watch the King ride by.

The King could only wave as the carriage pulled forward, trying to make eye contact with every person with two pieces of glass between him and them. But this was difficult, the horses were restless, and wanting desperately to press on in order to finish this task. He soon passed the first district of houses and was nearing the city centre. It was marked with a fountain of water, built by the King himself. This was especially close to the mining district. This was the place where the bravest of men raised their iron pickaxes to the sky, and entered the most dangerous area in the town: the diamond mine. This was the place where they traveled into the depths of the earth in a risky gambit to bring rare minerals to the surface, but it was likely that they would return merely with coal, or not at all. Deep within the deeper caverns, the place where nighttime never ceases, the deadliest of monsters appear around every corner. This is why the miners would often weigh themselves down even more with bows, arrows, and swords.

As the carriage drove by the small hole in the side of a wall of stone, the King observed several men, covered in soot, emerging from the ground. They covered their eyes as they met the sunlight once again, as it is normally several days between services. One man in front was mesmerized by the object in his hand: the elusive diamond, which only appeared to the miners twice every service. He smiled as he held it, and he soon took notice of the King's carriage. He waved at his Majesty, diamond in hand and all. It was still raining, and it seemed to make the gem shine even brighter. The King recalled one particular day when the miners all came rushing out of the mine, throwing their hats into the air, and whooping loudly as they wheeled out three minecarts full of diamonds. That day, there were enough diamond swords to last every knight for a month, with enough gems leftover to make 100 diamond rings for Spouse's Day.

Beyond that was the city square, and the carriage pulled into a roundabout turn that orbited another fountain made of diamond blocks. The King commanded the driver to stop the carriage in front of the puppet theatre. Almost immediately, he felt the horses slowly stop trotting. When the carriage came to a full stop, he heard a small splash, likely from the driver dropping from his position on top of the carriage to open the door for the King to exit. But, before the driver could do this, the King stretched his hand to the handle, and pushed open the door before the driver could arrive. He then used the blunt of the handle to haul himself up, and step into the rain outside. The moment he put out his head for the world to see, he was instead pelted with drops of water. His hair was almost immediately saturated with the liquid, and he had not even turned is head to glance at the driver, who was at that point very surprised that his master had opened the door himself. He stepped down from his carriage, and looked out a few meters to see the young woman, who was still there, and was still engaged in a deep sob. It was audible now, and it resembled the cries of a miner's wife, recently informed of her husband's passing.

He started to walk toward the bleachers on which she sat, and he could hear the combined sound of cobblestone under his feet, as well as puddles. He felt his velvet robes dragging in the water and mud behind him, and it was likely to be beyond any cleaning by the time he had returned. It mattered not; he had plenty more. He arrived at the foot of the small seats, and she was still curled into a little ball in the sitting position. The King kneeled down to her eye level, in order to make himself known to her. She looked up slowly, and then stared him in the eye. Her eyes were an unusual dark green, a color he had not seen many times.

He cleared his throat before speaking. Upon doing so, he realized that his action was not within his range of hearing. He cleared it again, louder, in order to satisfy his need to be heard. Then, he spoke.

"My lady," he said, narrowing his eyes slightly. "Why is it that one would chose to engage in a puppet theatre which is not showing in the middle of a freezing day during the largest rainfall of the season?"

She was a commoner, and was probably not accustomed to having someone of high authority engage her party in conversation. He understood, but he expected answers. He intended to help this poor, fine soul in any way he could, but he couldn't do it without learning of her woes.

"After all," he continued, pointing in the direction of the nearest house. "The inside is so warm and inviting. Why do you grieve, my lady? How may I assist you?"

She put her knuckles in her mouth for a few seconds, choking back more tears, trying not to stammer as she spoke. She may have succeeded on a level, but her voice still cracked.

"Please," she let out. "You must help me. Oh - oh, Notch!" She looked as though she would faint on the spot. "My son is gravely ill! I haven't the potion required to cure him! I took him to a Healer, but he said that there was not hope. He noted that healing would require a potion beyond his skill to brew. I have been traveling the town, asking all for aid, but I- h-have had no... N-no luck-"

She started to cry again, and as she did, the King swore under his breath. He was disgusted that the townsfolk could respond to this maiden in distress with the cold-heartedness and disrespect of slamming the door in her face, but it was not a pressing issue. It was likely not even an issue worth taking on. He decided to take matters further into his hands, and the words that escaped his lips would live in the town's lore for centuries.

"Where do you reside?" This was almost unheard of. The King, such a powerful figure in the town, and in Minecraftia, had asked to be directed to the home of a common woman. It was likely that any other man would have merely brushed this woman away from his mind, and he would certainly never consider going to the trouble of rousing his horses to pull his carriage in freezing rain. And, once he was to arrive, he would undoubtedly never go as far as to ask her of her address.

"Lapis Boulevard," was her response, which she gave rather stutteringly, for a combination of the rain's chill, her emotional breakdown, and her general shock at the kindness of this ruler toward the common people. "Why do you want to know?"

This was a response the King had been expecting, as per her initial facial expressions.

"I want to see your son."


	2. Chapter 1

**This chapter was written with assistance from Mr. EnderSlayer13.**

**Chapter 1**

The carriage was pulled quickly through the streets of the town, the puddles being made even more apparent every minute by each hoof step. The King looked across from himself, and began to observe the woman sitting there. She could not have been older than six patches, but certainly not younger than four. Her red hair dances about slightly as wind began to blow and find its way into the cab. He still puzzled over the hue of her irises, but it now looked a bit more red than green. She sat it a small ball still, using what was left of the seat in front of her to provide space for her legs. She sobbed into her forearms, which were crossed onto her knees.

The King hated this, as he hated anything else that had to do with the misfortune of his subjects, or anyone of the like. He had a plan, but it was risky, as time was surely of the essence for the sake of the young boy who, based on his assumptions, was no more than one patch old. This he hated even more than the woman's cries and howls. He looked outside the cabin, and saw that no one remained in their home. It was Notchday, and everyone who could spare the time would dress in their finest clothes and walk across the town to the church to give their prayers and sing for their creator.

The rain went on continuously. The carriage was now being pulled through at least and inch of rainwater at any given moment, and this would likely ruin the horse's shoes, and dirty their hooves to the point where it would require the risk of being kicked to clean it properly. The King could hear the sloshing of the hooves going into the water, and that of the wheels going down further whenever there was a bump in the cobblestones. He pitied the driver, who was perched on top of the cab, who had to endure the full blunt of the rain as they ran through the streets. Yet, he did never complain, and he did never object to the King's asking for a ride in his carriage, for whatever the reason. This such occasion did the job to demonstrate this loyalty.

Soon, the carriage began to slow, until it eventually reached a stop across from a small cottage made mostly of wool and reinforced with unrefined lumber. This was the standard, and most cost-effective house style in the dominion, at a price of three diamonds after every patch. This was a price that had to be paid for by he woman's husband, whom the, King knew to be a veteran diamond miner. Every miner is given a dividend of the amount of minerals they unearth between services, usually being about five ingots for an iron or gold miner, and about three diamonds for every diamond miner. That was just enough to pay off the land and the meals for three people per household, but almost no more, not even children's playthings. Those were a commodity that could only be obtained from the other side of town, and no one walked that far in the rainy season for anything except church.

Again, the driver hopped down from his position and the footsteps started, but then they stopped, and started to walk back toward the carriage's front. The King chuckled slightly, though this sound was muffled by the cries of the maiden in front of him. The driver had decided that the King would want to get himself out again, and that was slightly amusing to him.

"Driver!" The King shouted, making the woman stop crying long enough to be shocked, but the cease did not last long. He heard the sound of footsteps once again, this time much more hastily and quick. The door opened soon after, and the King stuck his head out again, looking upon all the people who had put their own heads out of their own windows to see the King arrive. He smiled at them, and they smiled back, though it was not a full smile, as they likely had no idea why the King would have wanted to come to the commoner's village. He merely kept on smiling in response, hoping doing so would have meaning to them.

He looked behind him after a few moments of this and looked again in the direction of the woman, who had decided to stop crying long enough to emerge from the cab with her dignity intact. As she emerged, she dabbed a small handkerchief on her eyes several times. The people were now even more puzzled. How had this common woman gained the privilege of a ride in the King's carriage? They had now turned their attentions to the woman, watching her every move; walking down the two steps that emerged when the horse was stopped, and watching her step to the cobblestones with envy in their eyes.

"Let's get you inside, now," the King blurted out in the midst of all this. The woman looked at him again, still not fully grasping his intentions. "'Twould be a shame for something to happen to the mother of a sick child, hmm?"

The King put his velvet - gloved hand upon her shoulder and started to walk toward the cottage in front of them, and he could almost feel the eyes of the general public beating down upon his own shoulders. The rain pelted them as though it were trying to thwart the King in his plans, and he reacted by throwing the large robe that draped over him over the woman's back. It was more imperative, weirdly, that she must be dry than he. They reached the awning that hung over the edge of the roof and the King took his robe back, placing it upon his own back once again. The woman was quick to open the door and step aside for the King to enter. He did so, and he had to duck beneath the door frame to enter.

The inside was rather small, with not a foyer of which to speak. Instead, the doorway led right into a small kitchen with furnaces burning with food inside of them. There was a row of five of them, all but one of which were alight. On either side of this line was a single crafting table. One of them held a small iron pickaxe, dented from use. It surely belonged to the man of the home. There was also a small cauldron with soapy water inside of it, several empty glass bottles within it. Something caught his eye as he turned away. Within the soapy water, there was something that looked a bit like gold, but it was coarse an not as brightly shining as gold would be in water. This was something he knew, as he had personally overseen the smelting of his crown.

The woman followed after him, her eyes still red from crying. She still looked at the ground in despair, not knowing what to do. This was all the invitation the king required.

"Where is the child?" He asked. He looked into the woman's eyes, which were suddenly at level with his. She sniffled a bit, and then wiped her eyes in a hopeless attempt to rid them of their itch. She motioned her head toward a small door in the hallway that the King had never noticed. It was small, and made of wood from the darkest wood, which only grew in a snow biome, or in the winter season. It cost a fortune around this time. It was also in the contrary to the rest of the house, which was made of oak. This wood could be found merely by looking around a corner in the road.

He walked toward it, and began to open the door. Slowly at first, but the speed grew as he thought more and more on the subject. The door was soon fully opened, and the boy was unveiled and brought into view like the curtain on the puppet theatre. He was a small child, perhaps two patches old, if you counted 1.2.4, which most people did not. He lay on the bed, asleep, likely dreaming of being healthy again. This was something that the Healers would tell their clients. If they dreamed of becoming better, they likely would, as this was considered a way to pray to Notch for health.

The King entered slowly, once again having to duck below the door frame, and stopped in front of the small bed. The woman followed soon after with a small pork chop in her grasp. She took a different route around the bed, and sat down on it. She placed the food on a nightstand (which was really just a block of wood placed on either side of the bed), and then began to speak to her son through choked-back tears.

"Elijah," the woman called, in attempt to wake her boy. _So this is his name, _the King thought with interest. It was not a common name, normally the parents would choose something like Markus, or anything relating to good luck. This name did not relate to any sort of tidings at all, let alone luck. The King recalled having once a brother with the same name, and he was the brother that he liked the most in particular. He was strong, brave, and never really cried for anything when he was young (not like his two sisters who would cry for everything they wanted, but to no normal avail, as his mother knew how to teach her children). He went on, soon, and was killed in the First Ender War. There have been two, each halving the population of this kingdom. The body was never found. "You have a visitor."

The child awoke, rolling over to his side to see the person who had come to him. The look on his face suggested that he did not expect the King. He opened his mouth the say "Hello, Your Majesty," but nothing came out. The woman immediately responded to his trying to speak. "Relax, dearest. Do not tire yourself further." She placed her hand on the boy's forehead, feeling for the temperature, which was likely rather high. This prediction was confirmed by the quick recollection of this hand. The boy was red in the face, and never opened his eyes further than a crescent-shaped slit.

This was precisely what the King despised: his subjects (especially those who were young) in pain and suffering. He decided that his plan needed a bit of revision for the sake of this boy's time left. It was clear that he was dying, more so by the minute, and it required much faster action than his original idea of help. He turned to the woman again, and asked, rather against the subject: "Might you excuse me for a moment?"

The woman once again turned and just looked upon the King for several moments before finally nodding in the direction of the door. He then quickly turned toward the direction of the door. As he walked toward it, his hand outstretched to grab the knob, he contemplated his new idea. It mostly depended upon what was in the sink being what he thought it was to be. He was starting to grasp what it could have been, but this was a bit of a stretch. He opened the door and closed it silently as he walked out. He then started to quickly walk toward the cauldron which acted as a sink, squeezing his way thought the crafting tables and furnaces.

He looked into the sink, and tried to look beyond the distortion of the many glass bottles that littered it. _If there are glass bottles, then there must be a..._ This thought was interrupted by a feeling of shock. He saw the bit of "gold" again, and immediately resolved henceforth that it was not that. _It's coarse, it's not as sterling as any mineral, let alone gold... _He looked a bit harder, and saw that there was a bit of cobblestone attached to the bottom of the mineral. _Hmm, it's almost as if it were a..._

He quickly dunked his hand into the water, unaware of his velvet robes, which were still soaked from he rain, and were now even more so from the sink's water. He felt around some, digging his fingers through glass bottles, trying to find something that did not resemble the shape of a bottle. And soon he did. It was long and rough, and as he grabbed hold of it, little flakes of it began to float up to the surface. _Powder... That could only mean..._

He gave a mammoth yank, and pulled the object through the many bottles that lay on top of it, and it soon broke through the water's surface. There was a large splash as his vigor in pulling the thing out had shown, and he held it up to the light of the small torch that lit up the area, and he no longer had any doubt about what it could be. _A brewing stand... Perfect._

He immediately placed the stand onto the counter next to the cauldron, and tried to remember the recipe for the needed potion, something that he need not brew for a long time. Bu now that he finally had reason, he could not remember for the life of him the recipe. He decided to take it one step at a time. This was the only option at the moment. He needed a bottle, but hat was easily remedied. He plunged his hand into the soapy water once more, and took grasp of the first piece of glass his fingers touched. He still neglected to think of his perishable clothing, but he still cared not. He held the bottle in his left hand, and used his right to open the separation of his robe to reveal many different materials. Among them was a single nether wart, which he had saved for such an occasion.

Before, in the time of the Alpha Patches, his great-grandfather ruled over the same valley kingdom as he did now. Now, the Elders tell stories of him and his bravery. He would venture into caves alone, and he would mine for minerals himself. He did never seem to need a team of volunteer miners to do this for him. He did everything himself; he crafted his own armor, forged his own tools, and built his own castle from the very stacks of cobblestone he would collect when he went mining for several weeks. The Elders would joke about their thinking that his ancestor had decided that he enjoyed himself down in the bowels of the earth with the zombies, and had resolved never to come back.

In this time, the great Minecraft God himself, Notch, gifted to his great-grandfather something that no one else could ever have: a brewing stand. It was the first of its kind, and would not make an appearance to anyone else but himself until late in the Beta Patches. The ancestor thanked Notch for this gift, and placed it upon a golden block in his rooms. It was not until he attained a great age that he used it. In the time of Alpha 1.2.6, he had grown dreadfully ill, and this was a crushing blow to his esteem. Not for his impeding death, but for his inability to keep his promise. He had made a vow to his wife on her deathbed that he would live to see the first Beta Patch, and unite with her in the celestial void, enlightened with the age and wisdom that was promised to those who survived until that patch.

On the last day before the first Beta Patch, his grandfather could hear, from his bed in the Tower of Kings, the many young people who were so blessed to have their youth in the coming of this great event. But, he also knew that he was dying. He arose from his bed quickly, and stumbled over to the brewing stand that sat upon the golden block across his rooms. As he arrived, his legs gave out, and he had to use his arms to drag himself to the level of the stand. He reached for the chest beside the gold block that held his dying figure, and used the remaining of his energy to unlatch the lock, and draw from the box a water bottle. But this was not enough for a potion. He needed to find something to activate it, something that could make it brewable. He drew from his robes the only thing that he had left: a lone nether wart. Something that he thought nothing of and had previously resolved to throw away. But when he tried, it was almost as if it were glued to his hand. He could not do it. He took it as some kind of sign from Notch, and kept it in his inventory for three patches. He placed it into the water, and watched the small plant as it dissolved into the liquid. The water then flashed in front of him for a moment, and then turned back into the water it once was. This must have been the vitalization it needed.

He placed the bottle upon the stand and began to add the ingredients. This mixture, not even the Elders could remember. But as he finished, the bottle that once contained a potion that had the effects of mere water glowed as red as the fresh blood he needed to revitalize his soul for a long enough time to see the New Days. As the last of his arms gave out, he collapsed to the floor, and used the last of his dying breath to raise the glass to his lips. He felt the concoction run down his throat as his eyes closed to the world, and a small light could be seen in the front of his vision...

But no.

Suddenly, the light vanished, and his eyes snapped open in time to see small red dust particles emitting from his skin, for he had strength once more. But, be knew his allotted time was brief. He sent up a fast prayer to Notch for foreseeing this event and then walked out to the balcony, still stumbling. He opened the door that led to his balcony, and he walked out to the platform. He saw his subjects, thousands of them, all arranged in the city square. They soon started to notice his presence, and began to point and cheer that their leader had come to see this proud moment in their history. He raised his hands to his subjects, and as he did this, his strength began to wane.

He looked over his subjects, arms still raised, and saw the horizon. The sun was starting to rise. This sun's rising would mark the first day of the Beta Patches, and a new chapter in their history. The sun's light began to race across the plains beyond the mountains of the city, and the rays soon licked over the peaks and lit up the town. The people threw their diamonds and helmets of all kinds into the air. The sight of this excited the King greatly, but this new excitement tired him more, and he began to stumble in his place. The end was near.

He would not force himself to walk back to his brewing stand. He could not do this to his subjects. Who was he, of all people to inform them that their King was truly a coward? It was an act of cowardice to merely walk back to brew another potion. He would be running from death. He would be running away from his people. This was not gentlemanly of him, the man who insisted that he would brave the most dangerous chasms to mine his own rare blocks, to run. Nor was it so for the man who could leave the land for days on dangerous treks through the snow tundras miles away. It was not so, most of all, for him.

As the light came upon him just a few moments after its first appearance over the mountains, he summoned the last of his strength to his legs, allowing his arms to go limp once again. He then used his remaining energy to prove himself to his people for the last time.

He cast himself off of his balcony. As he fell through the air, the wind in his face, he pondered his life, and he knew that if he continued to survive for more years to come on constant replenishments from a Potion of Healing, he would keep himself from again seeing his wife and from allowing his son to rule the Dominion next. _I will not run away, _he said to himself before he hit the ground.

This was why he carried the nether wart with him. If he were to fall ill, he would have a form of savior. But this was more important. He put the plant in the front of his grasp so he could drop it into the water bottle. But then he noticed something that stopped him dead. The bottle was also full of soap in addition to this needed water. He could not put the potion in there, the drinker would likely be killed by the poisons in the soap, thus overwriting the opportunity that the potion was meant to give.

The King dumped the water into the sink with great disgust. He had seen the whole house in its entirety. There was no source of water besides the cauldron in front of him. How would he get the water? The village well was closed on Notchdays in order to commemorate the regift of water to their god. There was almost no source of water throughout the entire town, as most of the people were away in the church. This idea was not working; he was so close to his goal, and he had been silenced by the first step of instruction to make a simple potion? He was furious at the fact that he could not do what he intended, and especially so that this boy could die within the hour without help. He slammed his fists to the edges of the cauldron, almost cracking the bottle.

_Craka-BOOM!_

Lightning. This was the sign that the rainfall had reached its climax. This rarely ever happened, and when it did, one or two of the cottages were usually left ablaze. The King looked outside, and he saw the rain coming down evermore, almost saturating the very air. _Look at it all... _the King thought, distracted for a moment or two. _It's not usually this bad. I didn't think this much water..._

That was all he needed to think.

"Thank Notch," he said before he threw warmth and dryness to the wind, not to mention his velvet robes.

The door flew open faster than it was likely used to, and it near came off its hinges, especially due to the rain which would likely rust these hinges. The cold sting of the water barraged him from all sides with the winds, but he cared not. He took from his lapel the small bottle that would hold the key to healing and life, and held it up to the sky. The small flask began to slowly fill with rainwater, the purest thing of which he could think. The priests of the town believed that rainwater was the single purest thing to ever be considered a natural resource. They believed not in the "water cycle" as the elves from Khaz Modan did, but instead that the rain was created by the great Notch and sent down from the clouds. The King hoped that this would be true, as the water would have to be as clean as possible for the potion to work.

When the water was filled, he quickly took it back inside, not minding to remove his boots, which were now covered in mud. He placed it next to the cauldron one more, and then stared into the water for a few moments. He knew what he would have to do, but it would be something that he had never done before. He opened his soaked lapel once more, and he saw the last remaining thing: a small scroll of paper. It was the boy's savior, as it had never been for generations.

A small boy pointed in the direction of the King's balcony, making it noticed to his mother, who was a still a bit preoccupied in watching the new day of the Beta Patches rise. The woman, who held the child over her shoulder, swiveled on her heels, but kept the child in the same position so the child could still see. She was in the middle of the crowd, about the same number of people in all directions of her. It was slightly difficult to turn, especially with the child, but she managed. She then noticed that the child's ringer was lowering slowly. She tried to align her eyes with his arm. What she noticed would leave her with a shock that stayed with her for the remainder of her days.

She saw the King falling from his balcony. She screamed louder than the crowd cheered, and the people that made up the mass audience turned near simultaneously. Some of the men began to gasp, and more women began to scream about as loud as the first, who was still yelling. They watched as the King's inverted body fell closer and closer to the pavement. His body soon went over the horizon of people's heads, people who had still not noticed. Not, of course, until the sickening crack rang out louder than the women's screams.

This crack was likely heard by the mountain men in the peaks that surrounded the Dominion. For a moment the world stopped, and then it seemed to start again in rapid motion as a man began to push, pull, and force his way through the crowd, yelling in the Elder Tongue for people to make way for him. When he finally reached the edge of the mass, it was like a whale breaching the surface of the ocean. He burst through the wall of people as though it had surface tension, and then he looked at the ground before him. What he saw would also stay with him for the remainder of his days.

The King's mutilated body lay bleeding on the cobblestones as the people looked upon him. A large pool of blood started to form where his body initially hit. No one cried. They merely looked upon him. Death was likely instantaneous; no pain or suffering on his part, but it was still a sad day for the Dominion, as their leader lay dead. A victim of his own sadness, it was thought. The man dropped to his knees and began to weep. His deep sorrows in an addition to the past event were nearly to much for the crowd to handle. Some of them began to weep as well, but never as much as the man in front of them.

The man's name was Araman, son of the King. Well, he was for the previous twenty-four years of his life, but he was now the King. But, he did not want to be King. Not like this. He wanted his father to be alive when he took power. He wanted his father to be proud of him, and to congratulate him as the crown was passed. He crawled forward to the body in front of himself in order to say one last goodbye to his passed father. He hoped to find some sort of reassurance in seeing this. But he found something else in the place of this. On his father's robe lay a small piece of paper, no bigger than a page of a small book. It was lightly stained with blood in the lower left corner. He took it in one hand, and used his fingers to unravel it as though it were a small scroll. There were words inscribed upon it, and he slowly began to shake with sorrow as he read it.

_Beloved son, if you are reading this, then I am dead..._

The King drew the small paper from his robes, and noticed that the lower left corner was stained with a dry red hue. This could only mean that the legends were true. He quickly unfolded it, and tried his best to read the faded ink markings. They had deteriorated over the course of a century, and the paper had yellowed with age (and possibly a coffee stain), making it all nearly illegible. Nearly. The King quickly took a pair of eyeglasses from his pockets and he set about reading the cursed paper. The glasses helped immensely, and he was able to decipher the meaning of what he was reading.

_Beloved son, if you are reading this, than I am dead. Having not enough time on this Earth to compose a will, this had to do. I have left the following for you, to be used only in dire emergency. The Beta Patches are likely among us. I dare say it should not be long now..._

_Place Nether wart in Water Bottle an stir vigorously._

_Slice Glistering Melon into precise quarters. _

_Place two slices into Water Bottle, and leave for twenty seconds to brew. _

_The next dawn, place remaining slices into Water Bottle, and leave for twenty seconds to brew, or until the concoction turns to red._

_My only remaining wish, my son, is that you will never need it, as I did._

The King merely stared at the paper for the entire minute it took him to read the small paper twice. _In hopes that you will never need it... _What did this mean? He hadn't time, though: the child's life hung in the balance. He would unfortunately have to utilize this family recipe of sorts on the life of a common child. Most of his advisors would tell him that. This was not at all a worthy idea, but there was some kind of connection the King had with this woman, weirdly. It neglected to be personal, but there was some sort of bond that he felt. It was almost as if he had crossed her way once before... Before he was King... Before... something.

He had to find a Glistering melon, and said commodity was not available to everyone, mainly due to its rarity, and not necessarily its nutritional benefit. Even the King had a set of ten Hearts of Life, and was not born with the Creative Tendencies. But, most of these people would use this power for the sake of others, and would then likely become an elder of the Dominion. Others used it for the sake of themselves, such as to spawn a quick diamond blade and wreak havoc across the kingdom. This had happened to the town before, and the culprit would be eventually caught by a younger elder, and then banished to the nether forever.

This Glistering melon only provided one half heart, and left an almost unholy aftertaste. One upside was that it had great powers in brewing potions, and could be enhanced to become a great Potion of Healing...

And that was what the King was set upon. Potions had only just been introduced to everyone in the Dominion, rather than just his grandfather, and some citizens were still getting used to the mechanic of brewing. This very potion was not brewed often, and could only be done by an experienced brewer. It so happened that the King had just said experience, but from a long time ago, and even then it was not truthfully toward the legislations...

A small young boy came running down a grand banister which ringed around the large, golden, well-lit corridor "like a lollipop," as he always said. His feet plonked down on the refined wood staircase, a sound that was sometimes muffled as he ran across the large red rug that also ran down the stairs, perfectly blanketing every step along the way. Squire would be furious if he caught the boy ruining the rug again (he thought it would make for an amazing fort in his rooms), so despite his excitement, he stepped carefully.

The boy was likely to be no older than two patches, and two _minor _patches at that, as he was just now entering adolescence. He was no taller than one block, but most children were not. He wore cloth in his clothing, while most common children (whom he'd greatly befriended) wore what they could get their hands on. Sometimes that would mean an iron armor chest plate. It was a common site in his schoolhouse (this was a new innovation. The King decided that he wanted all children to be educated together, including his own. This seemed like a grand idea to all else because all people wanted their children to meet that of the King), but it normally ended in disciplinary action.

As he neared the bottom of the staircase, the smell of cooked pork (his favorite) and chicken hung in the air like a beautiful painting. As he descended the last flights of the stairs, he closed his eyes and raised his nose higher than his head to take in the beautiful smells. It was likely the cook, who was always busy making something deliciously edible. Sometimes he would surprise the boy with a plate of cookies, or an apple. When he was not doing this, he always told himself the he "could do worse" than to prepare that day's breakfast, dinner, and supper. The King would noticeably admire the cook's loyalty and prowess when the subject was sustenance.

The boy leapt over the last several steps of the banister, hitting the polished floor below. It had been specifically designed to look almost like a checkerboard, as it contained obsidian and iron blocks beneath a think layer of polish that made the stones almost impossible to walk on. But, still you managed if you had lived in the castle long enough and you knew the correct walking technique to stay upright upon your feet. When the boy landed, he slipped for a moment on the tile, but he soon gained his footing, and then he took to the left of the banister. He entered the large, circular corridor that the banister wrapped around like a snake, and had he looked up, he would have likely seen how high up his quarters were from his current position. Despite this, it always seemed as though every morning the boy could smell bacon cooking in the furnaces in the kitchen far below.

He ran across the corridor to a small door that was specifically designed to fit the King's figure just perfectly. He was in the King's castle, on the edge of the Dominion. This was a privilege that was almost never given to any child. But it mattered not. The boy was here, and that was where he had previously resolved to stay. He passed through the door (it was still much larger than he), and he looked inside, though not having closed the door, using the elaborate doorknob to support his weight. He had to hang from it, almost, as it was higher off the bound than his head.

He looked inside the room, and he saw it to be very elaborately lit up, and very ornate in decoration. There were boughs of holly and green and red banners put up throughout the room where once was a large red banner depicting the King's family crest. For today was Christmas morning, and it 'twas the day on which the people of the Dominion donated a piece of their lives to the worshipping of the great god Notch, presenting gifts to one another and engaging in matrimonial celebration. However, why the people of the kingdom decided to call this day "Christmas" is not known.

The boy looked down from the elaborate corridor to see his family lounging upon small chairs, that were each equally as valuable and decorated as the entire rooms in which they sat. The King was reading a small scroll that had been delivered by his squire, as he did every morning, and Christmas would surely be no different. It was only when he looked over the brim of the paper that he noticed his son peeking into the room. He gave out a small exclamation of acknowledgement to his son, and he then placed the scroll on the table next to his chair, to be read later. This pile of scrolls was getting rather large for the small table.

He rose from his elaborately decorated seat, and outstretched his arms for his son to embrace him, and this was the only excuse that the child needed for happiness. He quickly charged forward across the rooms, an action that would surely put him in some trouble with the squire and maids, as he would likely break some object in the room. But this did not matter now, despite the fact that squire, who was still standing next to the King's chair, his arms inundated with papers, took the time to translate all of the papers to his right hand so he could use his left hand to rub his head in disapproval.

When the boy reached the edge of the room, he jumped into the air, to level with his father's shoulders, despite the fact that he stood only up to his father's thighs at the time. It was always a fact that the King's child could jump amazingly high, as was true for most children. On one occasion, the King had been walking through Victorian Street near the church, and a small child was able to jump on top of the block that once held a glass block. The child then crawled across the small surface to get the King's attention, and he then reached across the small space between the edge of the block to the King, and gave him a small yellow flower, still wet from the dew of the morning. He took it gladly, and saluted the boy casually before he continued along the way, now smiling for the first time in the day.

"Father!" This was what the King's child would yell before wrapping his arms around the King's broad shoulders after a long and high jump to his shoulder level. Sometimes he was caught off of his guard, and he would stumble for a moment, and then remark how the boy had grown. This was not so at this moment. The King remained stable as the boy reached around his father's neck and buried his face into his shoulder blade.

"Happy Christmas, son," the King said as brought his son back down to his feet. As he was lowered, it soon became apparent that he was certainly growing to be much taller and heavier than before. "I must insist that this boy is getting taller."

"Dearest," came a voice across the King's shoulder. It was the normal call for attention from his wife, to whom he had been wed for ten patches, a long time indeed, for the course of most marriages in the Dominion. The most weddings took place in the church for the common people, who did not possess a staggering life expectancy, what with the mining. Normal marriages lasted six patches before being unfortunately broken off by the death of a spouse. "You are forgetting..."

"Ah, yes," the King replied, smiling more than he had succeeded to do before. He stood up slightly straighter for a moment before turning his attention back to his son, who stared at him with large eyes. "Son. In a somewhat surprising turn of events, our great god Notch has decided to grace us with a new patch on this Christmas Day, which would make you three patches old!"

The small boy began to smile once more, this time with much more effort. This meant that he would be bestowed with a gift. This only happened on his birthdate, and it only came once every patch. It was always a special occasion because the time between each patch varied greatly. And the boy made sure to value each day just as greatly. One day, for his first patch, he received a toy bow that fired small plastic arrows. Yesterpatch, he received a small chest with a bundle of golden apples, which he liked to eat if he cut himself in some way. He always seemed to manage to do this every day; likely the truthful reason for the gift.

This patch, the boy was very excited. The third patch was a representation of an age milestone. This was when the child was to receive the best gift; the one that would make the other children envious of him or her until their third patch date. This is the cause for excitement on this day, and it was especially important for this boy, because he was the heir to his father's throne and Dominion. He received great gifts every patch, and every patch he was increasingly grateful.

"What is my gift to be this year, father?" asked the boy, who appeared just as happy and ecstatic as before. If he were to be perfectly honest with his parents, the boy would have told them what he wanted for his patch date, but he was far too happy with whatever he received to be finicky. The King merely laughed for a moment before walking over to a shelf on the opposite side of the rooms, from which he unearthed a small box, wrapped with paper and strung up with string. This was a means of gift-giving method that the heir had never seen before, and such an option of such was previously unbeknownst to him. As the King brought the package closer to the small chairs, the boy walked toward the table between the seats, implying that he wanted to have the present placed their.

The King placed the gift on the table, and then proceeded to walk around the table, back to his seat. His heir was busy eyeing the package, inundating his small mind with the possibilities of reception. It was a large box; if he were to place it on its end, it would likely be up to his neck in height. It was rectangular all the way around, perhaps trying to conceal an oddly-shaped object.

"Go on, then," the King said, motioning his hand toward the wrapped box. This was the moment that the young boy waited for all his patches. This is how he was able to be happy in the weeks and weeks that sometimes went by in between each one, and the gifts always kept him busy. He grabbed to package from the table and started to gently shake it. There was most definitely a loose object inside, and he was surprised at himself that he had forced himself to wait so long to get around to opening the box.

He started to tear off the paper and string, and he uncovered another large box within. He used his fingernails to scratch off the paste that held the flaps on the box together, and he wrapped his hands around these flaps, preparing to pull them open. He could never forget every year, and this year, he hoped, would be no different. He pulled open the flaps, and what he saw confused him slightly. He reached into the package and pulled out what was inside.

His earlier hypothesis that it was an oddly-shaped object hidden by a rectangular box was accurate. It reminded him of a large lamp; it had a small base, crafted out of a material that he recognized as a piece of cobblestone, and where the shade would be there were three small arms sticking out in a triangular shape, apparently also crafted out of stone. But the part that baffled him was the shaft that stood between the base and the arms, and it was certainly not cobblestone. At first, he though it may have been gold. That would make this object one of high value, considering it was to have a solid gold bar holding up a lamp shade!

But after he looked at it with more vigor, he was able to determine that the worth may have been more modest than he had originally anticipated. The bar appeared to be rather flaky, a trait certainly never found in gold, especially so when he grabbed it in particular. It did not appear to be fragile, however. These special distinctions made it difficult to decide what it could possibly be or, more importantly, what it was worth to the heir of the King.

He must have been looking at it with a curious look on his face, because the King soon asked him if he knew what the object was, to begin with. The child put all his effort into accessing the inner recesses of his brain, trying to emerge a classification for this awkwardly shaped object of unknown materials. But, he came up with nothing, not even. An idea on how cobblestone, of all things, could be shaped this way so expertly. He started to slowly shake his head, fearful that he would anger his father by seeming ungrateful for this gift, and ungratefulness was a trait that, much like the bar of yellow color, was unusual to him.

But, no punishment or scolding came, and in its stead a small chuckle was placed on the part of the King. The boy then placed the object on the table, and as it stared down upon him from the height of the table, he notices able to determine that the colors of the thing clashed heavily against the walls, even with the decorations. The King continued to slightly laugh before he finally spoke again.

"My boy," he said, smiling still. "I would not expect you to know of this object at any point in your life if you were not in this extraordinary position." This must have been a very important object, or it was so based upon the King's initial description of it. How could one be privileged, or in an extraordinary position for that matter, when in the presence of a rather ugly object, or so he thought if he were to be perfectly honest with his father.

"It is something that has been in our family for generations," his father elaborated. This must have been the reason why it would be considered valuable: it was a family heirloom. And it was clear that he was the heir, but his parents or other family had not yet passed. Why would they be presenting this to him now? What was the purpose? "I have chosen to give this to you now for the same reason why my father and his father had: in hopes that you may never need it, nor want it. This is a great privilege, my son. One that you may not yet see, but please keep it, as you will someday, I have no doubt."

"What is it called father?" asked the boy, looking at it on its place on the table. "Why is it important? What do I do with it?"

"That, my boy, is something that I hope you will never have to know, but it is important that you know of its uses. I will tell you more tomorrow, but for now, please leave it on the table. Those who look into the window will believe it to be a table lamp."

Still looking at the object, with questions unanswered, the boy reached across the same table to the small fruit bowl on the other side of the "lamp," and drew from it a golden apple. He had put it there himself, as he still had many left over from the previous patch date, and he slowly began to eat it, still eyeing the object.

The King, a few days following this event, was learned in the ways of the strange object's uses, but he was never told what it was or why it would be important to him. He had been taught that inserting special ingredients into a bottle of water, and then placing this bottle onto the stand's arms would cause the water to miraculously begin to heat. Such an action was almost unheard of in terms of science or sorcery in Minecraftia. There was no real definition as to why this reaction occurred. The Elders, when a patch update soon had one of these in everyone's hands, rather than just his, took a great interest in it, and tried to find out more about it than the obvious function, which proved to be unsuccessful.

This is why the King was one of the few people in the Dominion that could brew a Potion of Healing without failure. This potion could heal almost any wounds and it could cure many ails, though he feared for the small boy in the bed, who was, perhaps, beyond the immediate care the Potion could provide. This caused for a revision in his plan, but it could still continue, as he had already gone too far in this endeavor to stop himself.

He quickly placed the small scroll of paper onto the piece of wood that stood next to the cauldron and housed the brewing stand. He then placed the glass of water, still dissolving the nether wart, onto the stand to brew for several minutes. While the liquid began to bubble, he troubled himself with how he would be to acquire such a rare fruit as a Glistering Melon. But, of course, he was the King of the Dominion, and could likely have whatever he desired, but it would be nearly impossible to get me of these melons in the rainy season, as most crops could not grow in totally waterlogged soil.

But, he knew of a way that would allow for an exception to this truth of the seasons, but it would not be an easy feat to accomplish in the little time he had. Such a time would call for a skilled grower of all crops, let alone merely fruit. The King believed that he had a knowledge of just the correct person.

On the cobblestone streets once again, the rain falling ever more, the King looked around for a moment before quickly changing the direction he faced and walked in the new way. Some sections of the street had to be replaced by clods of dirt for the purpose of extra protections for the miners in the caverns below. During this season, the torrential rain would cause a problem, as some of the water would find crevices in the cobblestone roads, which ran in perfect line with the mining tunnels below the earth. This water would erode holes into the rock below the people's feet, and the rock could fail, causing a cave-in. This had happened before at a wrong time, when the miners were returning to the surface for the first time in weeks, and the rocks fell, killing several people directly while the rest died of starvation and dehydration. The dirt on the streets helped to keep the water out of the rock until the season was over.

As he walked, he took in the world around him as it raced by at seemingly super speeds. The people that walked in the opposite directions assisted with this illusion, and the many stands in the shops district caused quite a few disturbance in public silence. But, he soon happened upon one particular stand that was laced on every post with spirals of fruit and vegetables. The stand was owned by an individual known as Redd, who actually refused to reveal his true identity. Redd was a person who ran her stand with her love for plants, mostly those that would someday bear food. She shared this love with the people of the Dominion by growing and selling her fruit.

Redd was leaning against the counter that stretched from each end of the stand like a grin. She seemed to be unhappy, for whatever the reason. She bore a look of melancholy never seen before in her face. She drooped over the counter rather than sitting straight with her fingers drumming on the table. Today, her fingers her static, and the rest of her person no different. One of her hands was tucked behind her right ear, holding a mostly concealed cleaning cloth. She was always one for keeping her stand tidy, but today she must have quit halfway through out of spite. The King hated seeing his subjects unhappy.

"Good afternoon, Redd," the King said, casually, as though he came there often (Which he did. All of the Dominion's fruit supply came from Redd's stand at one point). The woman leaning on the wood table in front of her was likely about seven patches old, with red hair and equally bright clothes, and blue eyes that would, some said, sparkle whenever she made a sale. But, it did not appear as though she would be smiling this day, as she was preoccupied with this great sadness, whatever the cause. "Why do you wait and mope?"

"No reason, my liege," she said, still not looking up from the half-polished counter. But the King knew of the likely reason, and it was not an unusual cause for grief in this part of the Dominion. The King's Council has daily meetings in the King's dining hall to discuss the many "obvious" problems with the Dominion's well-being, and possible, outlandish solutions to these issues. The King hated his Council almost as much as he hated to watch the grieving that they would cause among his subjects. He took it upon himself, against better judgement, to ridicule them silently whenever they entered his dwelling.

"'Tis my Council, is it not, my dear?" The King asked this while bending over slightly to make eye contact with the woman. At this thought, she looked up slightly before the King had a chance to bend down far enough. She took the small rag in her hands and slowly dabbed her eyes with it, slowly starting to sob. The King could do with less of an answer than such, but she decided to continue speaking of her woes.

"Oh, my liege," she said. This was how she always acknowledged the King's presence. "Please forgive me for ill-speaking, but your Council has threatened to evict me and my business from my stand. They do not understand, however. Growing and selling these fruits and vegetables are my livelihood. On the wages I make, I can only just keep my stand in business, and I could certainly never charge the people of this Dominion a coin more for my endeavors."

She slowly went back to her previous position, staring at the counter, which was still ridden with dirt. The King thought this over for a moment, almost in disbelief that the people of his Council could do this to any stand owner, let alone Redd. The King had always reserved such a right to evict a person of his business interests for himself and himself merely. He hated his Council enough already. The last thing he needed was to see them hungry for power. But, like most times, he was able to formulate a plan sufficient to work for everyone involved.

"Redd," the King inquired, once again looking down, trying to catch her eye. This was achieved, and the woman looked up once more, her nose and eyes growing abnormally, and ironically, red. "I would like to propose a transaction..."

It was almost as though the tears and signs of sadness upon the face of Redd had been erased from existence. Her lament was no longer existent, and it was replaced with the same sparkle that came into her eyes whenever she made a sale. And, rather than having cured her upsets, she had just made a rather important sale. It had gone something in this fashion.

The King had asked of her that which could not be replaced easily. She had grown it herself, but it was too difficult to do often, and certainly not for many. She only possessed two of these fruits, and both were still being held in her private locked chest. He had asked of her one slice of Glistering Melon. At first, she was not, under any circumstance, in her mind, to give it up to anyone. But, such a a belief would be easily turned in the face of what would come next. A small bag found its way to the counter via the hand of the King himself, and the contents clinked together as it slammed onto the wood. Reds had opened the bag to find two pounds of gold coins within the leather.

The transaction was then sped along much more quickly, fueled by Redd's unconventional love for money, which was almost as unconventional as her love for growing fruit. And, it would continue to get better for her. A woman from across the road noticed that the King was purchasing a Glistering Melon from Redd's fruit stand, and she was in disbelief that one existed in the Dominion in this season. She quickly ran across the street from the safety of the awning of the clothing stand that she previously stood under, and ran through the pelting rain in order to reach the other side of the street.

The woman quickly ran up to the counter, next to the King, and ordered a slice. The woman paid Redd fifty gold coins for it, which was likely her original money for buying clothes. Soon, other people began to see that Redd's stand possessed a Glistering Melon. Soon, many people were lined up for slices of this special fruit. But, Redd soon ran out of the melon, and many people went home upset. It soon became apparent how much money she had made from a single Glistering Melon, with the other still in her safe. There were piles of coins and lumps of leather bags littering the counter, where once was nothing. It would be enough money to keep the Council happy for an entire patch. Her joy was never ending, and her profits seemed to be the same.

"Thank you, Your Majesty!" This was the cry that came from behind the King's back when he turned to walk back to the cottage. He turned for a moment, only to see a flood of people crowding around the stand, all inquiring upon the next stock of Glistering Melon, and all rendering Redd invisible. Some of them were not so lucky as to be under the awning that draped the stand, and were soaked to the bone, but they cared not. _You're most welcome._

The door of the cottage once again opened, and the King entered, covered with a fresh coating of rainwater, and still dripping slightly as he walked through the foyer, which should have been there. No sound came from the room in which the child lay, but it mattered not. What did matter was that the child was still alive when he got his next chance to speak. When he reached the end of the hallway, the crafting tables and furnaces were visible once again, as well as the brewing stand, which still stood like an artifactual statue in whatever sunlight leaked through the clouds and rain.

It took all of ten seconds for the Glistering Melon slice to be slowly dissolving and brewing in the water bottle, and slowly turning red as it brewed on the stand. It would take twenty more seconds for the potion to fully redden and be ready, but it seemed as though it were an entire ten patches longer. The King merely stood and paced the floor until grooves could be seen in the wood, and he watched as the final act of a potion took place. The twenty seconds seemed to pass quite a lot quicker when he paced, as many things has in his life as King.

The potion was red. It was as red as the fresh blood of a creeper. It was as red as the velvet of his robes (which now looked to be a dark brown). He took hold of the bottle, which still felt warm in his hands, and held it up to the torchlight. When the torch illuminated the room, it made the potion nearly translucent, and he could almost truly make out the light behind it. It was an amazing sight to behold, but it mattered not. Only a boy's survival mattered now.

He gripped the potion hardly, and then started to walk in the direction of the small room in the hallway. Some of his subjects may have described the act of walking "storming," as he walked with such vigor that it was almost made to look that he was angry. He came to the door, and reflected on the past hour. He had undergone an adventure that would save a boy's life, and such an endeavor was started only because of his compassionate feelings for the poor woman weeping on the bleachers of the children's puppet stand. He was certain that any other king in any other kingdom would likely turn the woman away, thinking only of himself. But, he was not such a king, and he intended for such a fact to remain as such.

He opened the door and entered the room in one motion, concealing the Potion with his robes, and quickly looked for the bed that contained the small boy. When he found it, any feeling of happiness that he could have felt whilst finishing his small quest was immediately erased. The small boy was only barely conscious, with his mother kneeling next to the bed, holding the hand of the boy in hers. But, she stopped doing this in order to stand to recognize the King's sudden entrance.

"Your Majesty," she said, almost prepared to cry once again. "It is too late. He is almost..." She stopped herself, unable to admit openly that her son was nearly dead. Shen raised a small scrap of paper to her eyes, and dabbing them slowly, before breaking into a full-fledged wail seconds later. She dropped to her knees on a lopsided angle, and they buried her face into the fabric of the paper. This distracted the King for several seconds, but not entirely by any means. He quickly strode past the crying woman, and stopped when he reached the child's bed. He was showing no sign of life in any sort of way, except for the slow, and very staccato motion of his chest. He had no life of which was worth speaking, and his shell of a body was the shell of a soul that was not willing to stay inside any longer.

The woman was still on the floor, but was now watching the King next to her son's bed. Her face was soaked with tears, and the sign of sadness filled every crevice of her body. But, the was an ailment that could be salved with a Potion of Healing in a second-hand fashion. He drew the Potion from his robes, and the woman's face was newly filled with disbelief, and soon after, happiness. She knew, somehow, of the classification of a Potion of Healing. This surprised the King, as brewing had just been introduced to the Dominion, and it had been classified as a man's work. This thought, however, had to be withdrawn from his mind as soon as he had thought of it. He had a more important task at hand.

He removed the small cork that was keeping the Potion's fumes inside of the bottle, and stole a whiff of the brew before he allowed the boy to take it. It smelled greatly of a mixture of golden apples and sugar canes, both freshly harvested. It also, arguably smelled of his wife's perfume that she would wear every day before her death. She was told that it smelled exquisitely delicious, and the King generally tended to agree. The Potion was perfect. It was meant to give off a smell that took the form of that which most attracts the person who is smelling it. The King always oversaw the harvesting of golden apples and sugar cane, as he could never resist its heavenly aromas. These crops were also made into perfumes.

He threw the cork to the floor of the room, and quickly walked the rest of the way to the side of her son. He lowered the bottle to the mouth of the boy's now lifeless face, and slowly poured it in, rubbing his throat as it entered to simulate a swallow. The King walked in a backward motion away from the boy, still holding the bottle loosely in his hands. He was only focused on the child, but he could guess that his mother was watching just as intently behind him. They waited for several seconds that felt, again, like patches before something happened.

A small moan erupted from the boy's throat, through his closed mouth. This audible sound caused the woman to leap to her feet, but calmly, and still staring. Soon, another sound of the same structure came from an opened mouth, and it soon began to grow louder.

"Siris," was the response from the woman. She spoke louder than she had done before, and it was likely because of her son's reawakening. It also became apparent that the boy's name was Siris. It was a peculiar name, yet he was certain he had heard such a name elsewhere. "Can you hear me?... Siris?... Siris!"

Her calm voice soon raised to a yell, and she started to return to a moderate sadness. The King knew that the Potion needed several moments to actually work, but the woman did not. She was prepared to accept, mournfully, that her son was dead, and she would have to move on in her newly miserable life and inform her husband when he returned from his shift in the mines. But, her sadness would soon end, as the event to follow would brighten any woman's face.

The boy's eyes were suddenly open, and he was sitting up just as quickly. He stared in a forward direction for a moment, and then placed his hand over his forehead and laid back once more, moaning audibly this time. His mother was on her feet quicker than the boy was to open his eyes. She ran over to the opposite side of the bed that the King stood at, and placed her hand on top of the limp hand of the boy. The King stood up proudly, and watched as the woman gently stroked the head of the revived child. After some moments went by, she left her son for a moment to look upon the King. This was the first time that real eye contact had been made among the two, and this time her eyes were not flooded with tears. Her eyes were a very dark green, which was a peculiar color of iris to possess among any person. He had never seen such a shade in quite some time.

"Thank you, my liege," were the words that escaped her mouth behind feelings of great joy and gratefulness. "You have saved my son's life. How could I ever repay you?" The King pondered this for a moment, almost forgetting the reason why he took this quest upon himself in the first place. It had been hours since he thought of anything but Siris's life. But, his original plan fit the need for repayment rather snugly. He cleared his throat, preparing to say something to a commoner that he had never before said to even his richest subjects.

"You could accompany your revived soul to my home for dinner tonight," said the King, exhaling the entire time he spoke. He also spoke rather quickly, wondering whether or not he should be allowed by his blasted Council to provide her an invitation. But, of course, he was the King of the Dominion, and he surely had the power, Council members be damned. "My entire cabinet will be present, including my most skilled Healer. He will surely be able to treat your son to health once more. I do believe that it will be within both of our interests if you were to come."

A small streak of light came into the house through the glass panes, blinding the King momentarily as the woman began to smile and speak her joyous acceptance. He quickly held up his forearm to his face as he looked toward the window, and he noticed that the rain had stopped, and the Sun was rising once more.

**Finished! That took quite some time! Thank you to everyone for reading and for their support, and more chapters will be released soon! Again, special thanks to EnderSlayer13 (his Minecraft name), the creator of the upcoming mod "The Ender Virus," upon which this story is based. He helped with the validity of everything that I include in this story that relates to the mod! You will learn more about it in future chapters...**


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